Content, with NOTHING

EMPTINESS, like a traveling cloak with

too many pockets, and nothing in them

I journey across the land

I walk into airports

looking for desire.

Cash is a poor substitute

with fake people

on fake dollars

trading souls

lost in the fire.

There are women of value

and gold

and jewels

and diamonds on black velvet.

If you are a poor prospector

and live in a garbage dump

and don’t like junk

You might be convinced

that Nothing

is better

than Something

but when she walks up

into your heart

you will never be the same again.

Recently, my father told me

about a man who found himself trapped

on an escalator

that traveled down, into the dark recesses

of nowhere, and when he stepped off, finally

He thought, “I’ll just take the other escalator up.”

But it was out of order.

It was a concrete faceless thing

with nothing to do but think

in the bowels of a building.

Now, I’m not saying that’s where I’ve been

but when

a man talks to a beautiful woman of mystery

his interior world

of concrete


a bit cold and gray.

Maybe, I travelled far, so that I can say…

“She was a dem fine woman, and I am so happy to have spent time with her.”

Her beauty will fade, like all flowers.

But for too long I have thrown up my hands and said, “What’s the use.”

Flowers don’t usually like to be sniffed by me

They don’t understand me

and though their voices sing

I have spent so much time in the baren wasteland

that to listen, is to visit some perfect place that isn’t real…

“She looked at me and said, “If you’re still single, you need to be where the music is.”

Undoubtedly, a common expression among flowers, and possibly true.

I took delight, that they

were so far away

from figuring me out.


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